


Nothing like the Movies.

by Bashful_Bitch



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Addiction, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slurs, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bashful_Bitch/pseuds/Bashful_Bitch
Summary: Husk gets to know Angel Dust. Turns out he's more than just his porn persona.
Relationships: Angel Dust/Husk
Comments: 9
Kudos: 319





	Nothing like the Movies.

Husk had found himself spending time with Angel completely by circumstance. They were both trapped at the Hotel, and both were prone to over indulging when it came to alcohol.

So, when Husk was put in charge of the front desk/bar, it was inevitable that the two would be getting more aquatinted, regardless of whether Husk liked it or not.

Charlie had implemented a points system to keep Angel from getting completely plastered, but Husk wasn't a patron of the Hotel, and kept his own never ending bottle of cheap booze close to his chest.

Angel had been quick to try and cheat his way out of the demon princess's point system by bribing Husk for some of his own alcohol. It hadn't worked when he offered his body, but Husk would relent and give a shot of his poison to the spider for some peace and quiet.

At first, he felt nothing but annoyance and disdain for the spider. This was admittedly Angel's fault, as he made constant solicitations at the old cat. Every flirtatious word, every implication that he was available doing nothing more than piss him off.

After Husk told him to hit the road enough times, Angel finally learned to dial it back a bit. He still occasionally tossed a flirt the feline demons way, but never pushed enough to make him horribly uncomfortable.

Over a few long months, they eventually started to find things they had in common.

One of those things was drink.

Husk knew Angel liked fruity, colorful drinks. Things loaded with sodie pop and sugar. All the magazines depicted him with a margarita or some other girly drink in hand.

But he hadn't expected the arachnid to like harder drinks. Things like straight whiskey, Scotch on the rocks, or just a shot of vodka. Sometimes the spider surprised him by using his points to buy a Classic Manhattan or an Old Fashioned. Drinks that Husk hadn't thought such a feminine creature would want.

They'd joked about it. Husk inquiring why a fruitcake like him would know such good, old fashioned drinks. And then being surprised when Angel told him those were the drinks of choice back in his time.

That's when Husk learned they had been pretty close in terms of when they had lived. Husk being born in 1910, Angel being born in 1915.

They had both grown up in some of the most tumultuous times in the country, even if their deaths had been far separated. Husk admitted he died some time in the 70s, though he had been too drunk to remember when exactly. Angel told him that he had died in 1947, just a little after WW2 had ended.

Husk asked if he had fought in the war.

"Nah, I was so deep underground by then, they never found me for the draft. Besides, they never woulda' took me. No poofs in Uncle Sam's uniform, remember."

Husk did remember.

"How's about you? You fight?"

He did. He had been stationed in Europe after the Japs took a hit at Pearl harbor. At the time, he had been working a casino in Nevada when the men in military uniforms handed him a letter congratulating him on being selected to serve his country.

He hadn't wanted to go. 

At least that war had been necessary, he said. Not like the other one he ended up in. Korea was a shit show. The whole Cold War fiasco had been a kick in the nuts after his run in Europe. Bastards would have sent him to Nam too, if the Reds hadn't fucked over his hands.

Looking down at his razor sharp talons, he supposed it was a funny, cruel irony. The hands he had used to kill men, the hands the North Koreans had smashed, burned and beaten into bloody pulp, were still just as deadly as they'd always been.

Made doing magic tricks hard, tho.

He went back to his wife as an angry, bitter man. It's no wonder she left. He didn't blame her. There's only so much yelling, fighting, swearing, and broken furniture that one person could take.

He turned to alcohol after that. Drank away the pain, the anger, the loneliness, until he couldn't feel anything anymore.

Then one day he put the barrels of his favorite shot gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. 

Not the most exciting end, but that's how his went. He expected Angel to make comments, make light of his life and death. To his surprise, the spider just hummed and nodded as he spoke. He'd occasionally ask a question, sipping his drink quietly. 

"I knew a few fellas that fought in the war. One got dishonorably discharged. He'd been poppin' guys that surendered. Least that's what he told me. Don't see what difference it makes, seein' how he was fightin' Nazis. I think he was Jewish. Maybe he had a vendetta against em. I dunno."

He looked down at his drink, swirling the contents.

"This other guy was from the first war. He was missin' a leg, and always got drinks where I did pick-ups. His son ended up going to Normandy. Apparently he never came back, cause the guy ditched his wife after that and became one of my regulars. Fucked pretty good for a guy with just one leg."

Husk made a vague noise of acknowledgement. He hadn't had to go there, thank God. 

He decided to ask his own question, seeing as how Angel had asked a few.

"How'd you even pick up Johns back then? I can't imagine you just went out like you do now." He said, taking a swig of his own drink.

Angel laughed, a short, breathy sound.

"Nah, not unless you wanted to get your ass beat, or killed. Had to be sneaky bout it. There where a few places that catered to fellas like me. Little hole in the wall places that managed to stay outta sight of the coppers."

Husk had heard about such places. He never kept up with stuff like that, but he remembered reading about police raids in the paper.

Angel gives a sly grin, looking up at Husk with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

"Ever hear of a place called Everard Bathhouse?"

Husk had to stop and think for a minute. It had been so long ago... Wait! Wasn't that the place that was all over the papers at some point? Buncha guys went to jail.

"You were there?" He asked, incredulously.

"I visited once or twice. This was in the early 30s, before I up an said fuck it to the family business. I ended up workin' way lower than that. After what happened to the guys that got caught, I booked it even deeper underground."

The spider took a sip of his drink, finishing it faster than he would have liked. Husk noticed, and without thinking, poured him another drink. 

What? No point ending an interesting conversation.

"So by the late 30s, I tell my old man to kiss my ass. He sends me out with a beanshooter to take care of some grifter who tried to pull one over on him. So I'm standin' there, waitin' for this guy to show up, just goin' over everything in my head. And I start wonderin' why I'm doing triggerman work for some old bastard who ain't never done right by me."

Right, Husk remembered Charlie saying Angel had issues with his dad.

"What'd he do to make you wanna leave?"

Angel huffs, leaning back to level Husk with a gaze that says 'Really man?'

"What didn't he fuckin' do? After my Ma died, he just had so many expectations. I was gonna be my brothers right hand man, according to him. So I had to be able to shoot a gun perfectly by the time I was ten! He use to work me for hours at the range."

He took an angry gulp of his whiskey, letting the burn slides down his throat and kick up embers in his stomach, adding fuel to the flame.

"He caught me playin' dress up with my sis when I was 12. She'd dolled me up so good, I thought I looked like a real babe. I'm talkin' tho whole shebang! My hair, my nails, most beautiful dress I'd ever seen. My Pa walked in and saw me while I was twirling at the mirror."

He paused here, clinking his nails against the glass.

"He whooped my ass real good. Told me he wasn't raisin' no cake-eater, and that he better not ever catch me doin' that shit again."

Husk sighed, slouching on the counter. He remembered guys getting the rough treatment for stuff like that in his time, Further down the road from Angel.

"Obviously I did. After gettin' my ass beat enough times, I just got sick of it. That night, after waitin' for hours for this guy to show, I saw him headed for his car. I had him in my sights when I just dropped the gun."

....

"I figured why even bother, ya know? Better off takin' my chances on my own."

He looked down, staring into his own eyes reflected in the whiskey.

"Guess I didn't know what I was gettin' myself into."


End file.
